Let Your Heart Be Light
by CorinneStark
Summary: Morris the Security GateKeeper and Secret Service Agent Tom discuss all the happenings going on in the White House. Based on that little snippet in "Grant for the People" where Morris said Fitz was the only President who ever asked about his family.


_**A/N: It's been 84 years since I've updated. I will be working on "We'll Meet Again" over the holidays. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this one-shot. Morris and Secret Agent Tom discuss what has been going down in the White House. **_

_Dammit, she's right, it will snow tonight, _Morris thought as he poked the coals and doused the flames with lighter fluid. The warmer weather of the past week tricked him into thinking that he could get away with a barbeque for their annual Christmas party. The lobster tails sat sadly in the cold, waiting for the fire to get hot enough for them to cook. Sheila peaked outside and smugly asked if he wanted a hot toddy while he waited. He tightly smiled as he lifted up his beer and told her that he got it covered. He could hear "Christmas in Hollis" playing in the background. Through the window, he saw his children dancing and encouraging the slightly inebriated adults to join them.

A few were drunk enough to try. Lauren started to do the slide with the kids. She motioned to Tom who stood in the corner with his arms crossed. He shook his head with a shy smile and moved towards the kitchen.

"Honey, just come inside," Sheila cajoled. "We've got more than enough food. We don't need the tails."

"I'm not wasting these tails," he stubbornly responded. She was about to say something when he cut her off. "And don't tell me we can bake them. You know it's not the same as barbequing them."

"Fine, but don't think you will get out of putting the toys together Christmas Eve if you get sick." The exasperation in her voice stung a little. But he said nothing as she firmly shut the door behind her.

Honestly, it felt good just being able to still argue with his wife. The doctors found the lump in her breast shortly before Fitzgerald Grant took office. It was a difficult time, figuring out how to shuffle the kids off to school and make sure she kept all of her doctor's appointments. Sometimes he had to miss work and his supervisor would give him all kinds of grief for it.

Morris took pride in his job that he held since the Clinton Administration. He served as the gatekeeper to power. The movers and shakers of this world ultimately had to deal with him in order to access the White House. Even though he was routinely dismissed and overlooked by these people, the importance of his job weighed heavily on him.

He met Olivia Pope about a month before the Inauguration. She led the transition team and helped coordinate information between the outgoing and incoming Administration. She brought him a box of cupcakes the first time she strolled by his booth.

"What are these for," he asked her suspiciously.

"They are for you." Ms. Pope answered with a smile. When he didn't respond, her smile faltered a little and she clarified, "To eat."

Morris triple checked her credentials not believing someone in her position would do something like that for just him. When he found out she was legit, he let her in shaking his head amazed that people could still surprise him.

He got to know her in the oncoming weeks. She had a graceful charm about her that made her easy to talk to as she waited for entry to the White House.

A week before the Inauguration, he was having a particularly hard time. His wife threw up all night in response to the new chemo treatment and he didn't get any sleep either. Five Hour Power drinks and the nervous energy that accompanied the arrival of a new Administration kept him going throughout the day. When Ms. Pope asked him how he was doing, for some reason he blurted out the truth.

"Not good." Her eyes grew wide with surprise and she stopped in her tracks to get more information. Other people in line impatiently checked their watches as she listened to his story. He kept it short; embarrassed that he made a big deal about it and wishing he could have just made the usual pleasantries. And of course, his boss Philip, had to show up to see the line backed up.

"What seems to be the problem here, Morris," he asked in a clipped voice, eyeing the line. "Is he giving you trouble, Miss?"

She shook her head emphatically. "No, not at all. He was just telling me that he didn't get any sleep last night taking care of his sick wife."

Philip's face got a little redder as he turned to Morris and admonished. "You know you are not supposed to talk about your personal life. Sorry Ma'am for the inconvenience."

Ms. Pope's face got a little hard, "It wasn't an inconvenience at all. But maybe you could let Morris take the rest of the day off so he can get some proper sleep?"

Philip's eyes narrowed at her frankness. "And who are you?"

She straightened up and jutted her jaw out. "Pope. Olivia Pope."

His boss definitely recognized the name of the woman who could potentially give him a lot of grief in the next eight years. "What, does the White House not believe in giving their employees a little time off to deal with sick relatives?"

"Of course we do, Ma'am."

Ms. Pope smiled, "Good. Then we are going to get along just fine." She looked to Morris, "Go home and get some sleep." She then turned away and strutted through the entrance. He hadn't seen anyone talk to his boss like that before. His boss stiffly told him to go leave and took over Morris' duties until someone else could fill in.

He went back to work before Inauguration Day. Honestly, he loved his job and it made him appreciate the time with his wife even more. He saw Ms. Pope very early that morning. She grinned from ear to ear. "Looks like moving day is finally here, Morris. You are going to get tired of me soon."

"Never," he smirked, but he actually meant what he said.

The First Family walked all the way down Pennsylvania Avenue from Capitol Hill after Grant was sworn in for duty. Thousands lined the street to cheer the President. When they got to Morris' booth, Grant shook his hand with a smile that actually reached his eyes. "Your name is Morris Elcott, right?"

He blinked in response. The last two Presidents never addressed him by his name, let alone knew it before they even met him. "Yes, sir," he finally answered.

Grant looked directly into his eyes, his brows knotted. "How is your wife doing? I heard that she was sick."

Morris' mouth dropped a little before he answered, "She's doing much better, sir. Thank you for asking."

Mrs. Grant stood a distance back as her husband talked, folded her arms and dropped her smile for a moment. Karen walked up to her Dad and leaned against him, yawned and rubbed her eyes. Grant ruffled her hair and gave her a kiss on the head. He continued his conversation with Morris, "My Mom had breast cancer, so I know it can be tough for everyone. How are your kids taking it?"

"They're doing better than I expected. They're real troopers," Morris' voice cracked a little.

"Kids can be pretty resilient." The President pulled Karen closer and gave her a hug. "I hope that . . ."

"Honey, we've got to get ready for the Balls," Mrs. Grant interposed in a sing-song voice. She plastered a smile on her face but hardly seemed to glance at Morris.

Grant frowned at his wife's interruption. He turned back to Morris. "Please give your family my regards." The President took his hand again and held his forearm.

"Thank you for your concern, I really appreciate it, sir."

"No, thank you for all the work that you do." In his time at the White House, he had encountered thousands of politicians who walked through those gates. Some would offer false compliments or insincere concerns, but Grant was the first one he actually believed.

Grant turned to his daughter. "Well Karen, let's check out our new home, OK? See you later, Morris," he said with a warm smile.

That was almost four years ago. It was a long road, but Sheila was declared cancer-free nearly a year to the date of Grant's Inauguration. A lot had changed since then.

The backdoor opened again and this time it was Tom. Morris had known him since the secret service agent started working at the White House towards the end of George W. Bush's administration. He was a man of few words, but somehow they had struck up a friendship. Tom hunkered down and joined Morris on the porch step as they both watched the fire grow hotter.

"I thought you might be running low on supplies." The Secret Service Agent held a beer up to the Security Guard. Morris quickly downed the rest of the beer in his hand before took the new one from his friend.

"Thanks. Cheers." They clanked their bottles before taking a sip. Morris couldn't tell if Tom's flushed face was due to alcohol or the cold. His smile came easier, so he suspected Tom had a few before he decided to join the fool trying to barbeque. "You should have danced with her. When a girl asks you to dance, you dance."

The red head shook his head. "Nah, I can't dance. Besides, what's the point? I'll be gone in a month anyway."

Morris sighed. Yes, things were definitely changing. "Well, a lot can happen in a month. You should just go for it. What do you have to lose now?" Tom took the job of heading the West Coast Division of the Secret Service almost immediately after the election. Morris couldn't blame him; he wasn't looking forward to the new administration either. When Grant made a surprise announcement that he was getting a divorce in the middle of his Presidential run it shocked the nation. Not so much that the marriage was in trouble, which had been fairly obvious for awhile, but that he stopped playing the smart political game and just was honest about his family life.

The press had a field day, hammering the philandering husband who dumped his poor sweet wife. Morris knew better. Most of the White House staff knew better. Still, even after the bad press it looked like Grant might pull it off. He could still charm a crowd and he never seemed more relaxed and confident. His poll numbers were steadily rising and pundits and statisticians were predicting his win.

Then a month before the election allegations surfaced that Vice President Sally Langston murdered her husband. A tape recording made of Langston the night of her husband's death had come to light where she kept on repeating that "the Devil came inside." In a stunning live address, Langston confessed that she had committed a grievance sin and that she needed to stand before God and the nation to face her crime. It looked like the President had no knowledge about what happened, but this scandal seemed to be the straw that broke the camel's back.

In a tight race, the public elected the confessed killer Reston whose ex-wife was serving time for a murder he committed. Morris still couldn't wrap his head around that one. There was talk of voter irregularities in Ohio, but Grant did not lodge a formal protest and conceded once the votes had been counted.

Morris could hear Lauren laugh loudly at something inside. Tom turned his head towards the door. His eyes lingered there for a moment and then he took another swig of his drink.

"Do you know what she's going to do afterwards? Is she going to continue to work for Grant?"

Tom shook his head. "No, the President lined a nice job up for her at the Defense Department. She's going to be fine." The past month had a lot of the staff of the Administration scrambling for work. Morris didn't have to worry about that since his position was a career service job.

"So, I guess you'll be coordinating Grant's security detail back in California?"

"He's not going back to California, at least not for awhile. He's going to Vermont." The corners of Tom's mouth lifted almost imperceptibly.

"Vermont," Morris asked curiously. "What's in Vermont?"

"I don't know," Tom said somewhat reservedly. "Orchards. Less press. Who knows?" He shrugged his shoulders dismissing Morris' probing.

Morris usually let it drop when Tom clamped up about the President, but this time he pressed. "Oh come on now, Tom. Spill it. You know. Don't deny it. Aren't we friends? Just tell me. It's her, isn't it?"

Tom's eyes glazed over and he adopted his super serious agent persona. "I don't know what you are talking about."

"You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about," Morris scoffed. "Olivia Pope. I didn't really believe it at first, but after the first time her name was linked to the President, it all started to make sense. And then suddenly everyone was saying it was Jeannine Locke and I know for a _fact _that it wasn't."

Tom contradicted him, sounding like he was reciting something by rote. "Jeannine Locke was named mistress by President Grant. It was a brief affair and they both regret it."

"That's bullshit." Morris waved him off in disgust. "Jeannine would go to work every morning with her friend Ethan and she would leave every night with him too. I'll bet my last dollar that she was never in the same room alone with President Grant, much less having an affair."

Tom remained silent, but looked down at the ground to avoid eye contact.

"Ha! I knew it," Morris exclaimed as he clapped his hand on knee for emphasis.

"I'm not saying anything," Tom weakly protested.

"Too late," his friend crowed. "You already gave up the ghost. It's Olivia Pope and they've been in a relationship for awhile." The few times he had seen them together before she resigned, he noticed a connection that everyone else seemed oblivious to. He couldn't believe when Ms. Pope left the first time, although she looked pretty stressed a few days before she resigned. She always came back though, either helping out the White House when there was trouble or going against them for one of her clients.

"You're imagining things." Tom took another gulp of his beer, still not looking Morris in the eyes.

"Hey, it was your boys that put that rumor out there in the first place and I guess you'd be the people to know." After the scuttle about Ms. Pope died down and she was brought back to help run the campaign, Morris thought things were finally getting back on track. He felt a sense of relief seeing her face again going through his gates. However, the relief was short lived; Ms Pope abruptly quit the campaign five months into it. Morris could tell something was off before Olivia left, their interactions were brief and she seemed distracted like she did the first time she left the White House. The President announced his divorce about a month after she left. In the back of his mind, Morris thought somehow this would bring Ms. Pope back into the fold. The day of the announcement, she did indeed show up, but she didn't look at all pleased. After she met with the President, she stormed out of the White House and didn't return until the whole Sally fiasco blew up.

"When Langston had her come to Jesus moment, Ms. Pope was at the White House every day," Morris reflected. "And then after the first night where she never checked back out, I stopped making notes of it in the log." Tom didn't look up at him; instead he concentrated on peeling the label off his bottle.

Morris sighed. Getting information from Tom sometimes was like getting blood from a turnip. "Well, all I can say is that I hope it's the real deal, that it's worth it." He could hear Shelia telling a funny story about one of the kids inside. The peals of her laughter made him feel a sharp pang in his heart all of a sudden. "You know, screw these lobster tails. I want to be at my own party." Morris moved to put out the fire.

"It's real," Tom finally offered, looking Morris in the eye. "I don't know if it's worth it, but it's real."

Morris broke out in a grin, amazed that the laconic agent actually said anything. "If it's real, then it's always worth it." Tom returned the smile, but looked skeptical. "Oh, yeah, that's right. I guess Mr. Stoic is just above all this silly love stuff."

Tom held up his hands in defense. Morris stood up and put the lid on the grill, shutting the vent to starve the oxygen.

Morris continued, "A job's a job. In the end, it puts food on the table. Fame, fortune, easy come, easy go." He could see his wife through the kitchen window. She paused for a moment in her conversation, sensing he was staring at her and gave him a brilliant smile. His voice grew thick, "But love. The kind of love that makes you feel comfortable in your own skin. The kind that makes you want to lift that person up and shot to the world how freaking lucky they are to have her in it. That's something you hold on to."

Tom stood up and glanced wistfully through the window where he could see more adults beginning to dance with Lauren and the girls.

"Tom, just talk to the woman," Morris encouraged. A moment of panic swept across the face of the man who had confronted death in the service of his country time and time again. "A month or a lifetime, you'll never know unless you try."

"There you go again, Morris. Offering up your pearls of wisdom," Tom said, trying to make light of conversation.

"Fine, fine. I'm just an old fool. What do I know?" Morris started picking up his cooking supplies, shaking his head at Tom's stubbornness. He put down the tray of tails he just picked up and pointed a finger at Tom. "You don't waste opportunities when they are handed to you. I just know that if I never walked up to Sheila at that party fifteen years ago, I know I would have regretted it for the rest of my life."

Tom just looked at his friend for a moment and nodded his head, like a little seed of hope rooted in his mind. "Ok. I'll do it." Tom took a deep breath and let it out. He rubbed his hands together and started pacing a bit.

Morris clapped him on the shoulder. "You can do this, Tom. Just go up to her, open your mouth and speak."

Tom started to repeat to himself over and over again, "Just open your mouth and speak." He squared a determined face and marched over to the door, not looking back.

"Uh, wait a second, Tom. Hold the door open so I can bring in these tails." Tom complied and then made a bee-line to Lauren in the next room. Morris watched the scene play out from the kitchen. For a moment Tom looked frozen and then seemed to blurt out some compliment. Lauren beamed, her eyes twinkling under the Christmas lights. They started a long animated conversation.

Morris began preparing the tails for baking when his wife entered the kitchen. "Need some help," she asked with a sly smile. She didn't berate him or rub it in that she was right. She just turned on the oven to preheat it. He suddenly grabbed her by the waist and turned her around to give her a big kiss.

"Have I told you today that I love you?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact," Sheila responded with a grin. "But you can do it again, I don't mind."

"I love you." He held her face in his hands and gave her a kiss on her cheek. "I love you." He kissed her on her forehead. "I love you." He kissed her on her other cheek. "I love you." He kissed her on her chin. "I love you." He finally kissed her on her mouth and lingered there.

He looked over to his family and friends in the next room and gave his wife a tight hug. He wasn't rich. No one would even remember his name beyond his children's children. But he was here. And he was loved. And he loved. And that was enough.


End file.
